e with prim black curls against the cheek, he saw
the French-Canadian mother, and said not gallantly, but rather timidly:

"And you're like your mother, I suppose? You're dark like a French
woman."

She answered this with a brusque denial. Extracting compliments from
the talk of a shy young Westerner was evidently not her strong point.

"Oh, no! not at all. My mother was pale and tall, with very large
black eyes. I am short and dark and my eyes are only just big enough
to see out of. She was delicate and I am very strong. My father says
I've never been sick since I got my first teeth."

She looked at him and laughed, and he realized it was the first time he
had seen her do it. It brightened her face delightfully, making the
eyes she had spoken of so disparagingly narrow into dancing slits.
When she laughed men who had not lost the nicety of their standards by
a sojourn on the frontier would have called her a pretty girl.

"My mother was of the French _noblesse_," she said, a dark eye upon him
to see how he would take this dignified piece of information. "She was
a descendant of the Baron de Poutrincourt, who founded Port Royal."

David was as impressed as anyone could have desired. He did not know
what the French _noblesse_ was, but by its sound he judged it to be
some high and honorable estate. He was equally ignorant of the
identity of the Baron de Poutrincourt, but the name alone was
impressive, especially as Miss Gillespie pronounced it.

"That's fine, isn't it?" he said, as being the only comment he could
think of which at once showed admiration and concealed ignorance.

The young woman seemed to find it adequate and went on with her family
history. Five years ago in Washington her father had seen his old
friend, Marcus Whitman, and since then had been restless with the
longing to move West. His health demanded the change. His labors as a
physician had exhausted him. His daughter spoke feelingly of the
impossibility of restraining his charitable zeal. He attended the poor
for nothing. He rose at any hour and went forth in any weather in
response to the call of suffering.

"That's what he says a doctor's duties are," she said. "It isn't a
profession to make money with, it's a profession for helping people and
curing them. You yourself don't count, it's only what you do that
does. Why, my father had a very large practice, but he made only just
enough to keep us."

Of all she had said thi